


Two Bits

by LorettaFryingPan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Haircuts, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorettaFryingPan/pseuds/LorettaFryingPan
Summary: A quiet moment, before getting back to Nicodranas.





	Two Bits

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember why I started writing this, only that it was part of a discussion I was having with a friend. This has undergone a LOT of transformation in the interim, but I think it's retained the core of what I wanted to say. (I had to do vicious battle with Caleb's mountain of self-loathing to get this story finished)
> 
> Please......they need a rest.......

They don't talk, really; Caleb needs to concentrate and Fjord doesn't want to move too much. Nott's dagger isn't the best razor, sharp though it may be. The silence is comfortable, and they both enjoy listening to the happenings on the ship outside of their quiet oasis.  

Having Caleb's undivided attention is almost a physical sensation. Fjord is used to scrutiny, used to hating it and shrinking from it, but this is different. As laid bare as he feels, the fact that Caleb is the one doing the looking is pleasant, even comfortable. Part of him is flattered, almost shy at the fact that Caleb will remember this moment forever. 

He’d initially intended on having Beau help clean up the sides, given her experience maintaining her own haircut, but she’d been busy making the rounds with the crew to check in on the state of morale. Caleb had found him wandering the ship at loose ends and asked him what he was looking for. So now Caleb is here, shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows, somewhat paradoxical next to the bandages still wrapped up his arms, doing a damn good job cleaning him up. 

Caleb's hands are careful and deft, brushing the long hair over the top and separating it from the shaggy sides. Once or twice he pauses to stroke it, raking his blunt nails against Fjord's scalp. It's not dissimilar to how he scratches Frumpkin, and Fjord understands why that cat purrs so damn loudly now. He almost falls asleep under Caleb's ministrations. 

"Come on," Caleb murmurs, and if Fjord didn't know better he'd swear there was the hint of a laugh at the edge of his voice, "stay with me here."

"I'm trying, I promise," he replies. 

"Alright," Caleb gently tilts his head around, guiding Fjord to look down at the floor while he cuts the back. He makes quick work of it, either that or Fjord zones out again and comes back as Caleb is brushing the stray hairs to the floor and taking Fjord's head in two gentle hands. 

"Last bit, unless you want me to trim the top," he says, brushing everything into alignment. Fjord feels his fingers stall in the patch of salt at his temple, rubbing a small circle among the grey hairs. 

"If you don't mind, could probably do with a trim there as well. Keep me looking ship-shape."

There's a lot they haven't discussed. Conversations that keep getting pushed aside in favor of more pressing concerns.

"Will do." 

This is the first moment of quiet they've had in what feels like a month, and Fjord doesn't want to disturb it. The drag of the blade picks up again, and his thoughts simmer. All the words he wants to say are sitting on his tongue, but he forces them back for now. He wants to ask about Caleb’s plans, if he has anyone in the Empire he’s worried about now that the war has gotten worse, how he feels about everything that’s happened at sea so far. He wants counsel, wants to get some sense of where they stand.

He's _noticed_ Caleb for a while; first as an intriguing unknown quantity, then as a source of arcane knowledge. More recently, however, things have shifted. Caleb has turned from a shady traveling companion to a trusted comrade and friend. Fjord has become keenly aware that, despite Caleb's claims to the contrary, behind the brusque and withdrawn shell lies a sincerely kind and charming man. And, well. Fjord isn't about to pretend that Caleb isn't handsome, under the dust. 

Caleb brushes the stray trimmings back with a gentle hand and Fjord tries to keep from leaning into it too obviously. 

"Hang on, let me just find some scissors. I'll be right back." He pats Fjord's shoulder and is out of the cabin without another word. 

Fjord is seized by the sudden urge to bury his face in his hands and groan. Instead, he brushes his fingers over the freshly shaved sides and thinks. He doesn't want to upset this fragile balance they've found, but he's on his last nerve. The trouble is that for as comfortable as he seems to be with physical closeness, Caleb is powerfully skittish; and Fjord has no damn clue how he's going to react to this sort of thing. As much as he talks about "calculated risks" and seems willing to throw his lot in with this party for better or worse, he's not too keen on getting personal. Assuming Caleb would want to get personal _with him_ is a leap he’s not sure he wants to risk.

And something like this would be very personal indeed.

Caleb comes back then, and Fjord twists in his seat to see him frowning at a pair of beat-up iron scissors. 

"Something wrong?" Fjord asks. 

"These are all that we had on board, but they’re terribly dull," Caleb says, and looking close, Fjord can see some decently sized nicks in the blade. 

Before he can ask if Caleb has some sort of plan, he watches as Caleb props the scissors open with one hand. With the other, he pinches a blade between his fingers and slides them along the length of it. Fjord sees how the scissors shine with new life in the wake of this gesture, and it hits him that Caleb sharpened and repaired the blades with nothing more than a bit of magic and his bare hands. It's a casual display of delicate finesse and sheer arcane power, and Fjord’s mouth goes a little dry.

"So, just tidy it up?" Caleb asks as he tests the motion of the scissors, and Fjord takes a moment to realize he has to answer. 

"Oh, uh- yes please." He collects himself a bit more. "That was mighty impressive." 

It's Caleb's turn to be thrown for a loop now, and Fjord is treated to the sight of a blush dusting over his usually pale face. It's adorable. 

"Just a bit of basic transmutation," he says, ducking his head and moving to stand directly behind Fjord. 

"All the same, it's quite a skill," he says as he lets Caleb move his head to the angle he needs. 

Caleb just hums in reply, which Fjord counts as a win. He sets to trimming, which is a more involved task than shaving. Caleb flits around Fjord, checking lines and making sure everything is even. Making conversation is easier, though, without a dagger behind his ear. 

"How did you learn to do this?"

Caleb huffs softly, another not-quite laugh. "I used to cut quite a sharp figure in my youth." 

Fjord believes it, too. He imagines what Caleb would look like now, with his hair cut and his scruff trimmed. He remembers how Caleb made himself look, that night they met Jester’s mother.

"I bet you were quite a looker," Fjord says. Those words he's been trying to hold back slip through his teeth and before he even knows what he's doing he says, "You're certainly one now."

The scissors pause mid-cut, and he sees Caleb's free hand freeze in his peripheral vision. 

"You're just saying that because I have a pair of razor-sharp scissors next to your temple."

"I assure you I'm not," Fjord says, trying to snag control back over the situation, and the gentle snips resume. He can't see Caleb's face, which makes this both easier and harder to say. "I remember how you cleaned up, back in Nicodranas."

Caleb swings around to Fjord's front, to trim the not-quite-bangs he's been growing out. His focus is intense, but settled on the task at hand, and decidedly not making eye contact. His face is red as a brand. 

"And I mean that," Fjord goes on, looking at Caleb's scarlet ear rather than his face. "Been meaning to tell you, but...well. Haven't really had the chance."

Caleb makes a couple more decisive snips of Fjord's hair, sets the scissors down and crouches to meet Fjord's seated eye level.  

He stares at Fjord then, an intense searching gaze; like he's trying to see if Fjord is _actually_ telling the truth. Whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him, and he reaches out to brush Fjord's hair back into place. It's a gentle gesture, even tender, at odds with the wrinkle in his brow. 

“Is that all you’d been meaning to tell me?” Caleb asks, cocking his head.

There's a weight to that sentence that Fjord wasn't expecting. Fjord hears the meaning behind it, or at least he thinks he does. It almost feels like they're speaking in code, or thieves' cant. He's only working with half the codex, and any mistake would sink him. Asking to speak plainly would destroy the delicate balance, so all he can do is tread carefully. 

“One of the things,” he says. He makes a gamble, and reaches a hand out to Caleb. He waits for a long second before Caleb’s hand settles into his and holds it. His hand is warm and calloused, and his long fingers lace together with Fjord’s.

"You are quite handsome yourself," Caleb says, his voice low, tentative almost. "I feel you don't need me to tell you that, though."

"It means more though, coming from you."

“Does it?” It’s not quite a question, and Caleb is looking at him a bit like Fjord is the puzzling one, like Caleb is the one worried and not quite sure where he stands. 

The thought that he and Caleb have been dancing around each other this whole time, standing in the exact same position but somehow opposite, boggles him. The entire time, he’d thought his feelings would be, at best, unreturned.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to hide the shake in his voice at the sudden realization, “it really does.”

Apparently things could occasionally turn out better than he’d hoped. He grips Caleb’s hand a little tighter, dares to lean in a little closer.

“Anything else you need?” Caleb asks, and the smile on his face is a rare one, so gentle and peaceful, and Fjord would do anything to keep that smile on his face.

“Well, he says, tilting his head a bit, “There was one thing, if it’s not an imposition.”

Caleb’s eyes are impossibly blue. “I think I have some idea,” he says, “no imposition at all.”

His free hand comes up and traces along the line of Fjord’s jaw, pulling him in. The kiss is soft, sweet and tentative. When they part Caleb is staring at him again; that feeling of focus, of Caleb committing the moment to memory, pulls him in again for a second kiss, then a third.

There are plans to be made, and things they need to discuss before they get to port. But they don’t need to talk just yet. For now, they’ve said enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ lorettafryingpan/djinn-and-djuice, come say hey! <3


End file.
